French class makes my day
by Franco the great
Summary: I was worn out and french pump me up


"_RING…!" _The school bell rang.

I lazily heaved my book bag on my shoulder and marched out of my classroom, after a whole period of torment. I was sure the derivatives of natural log would haunt me that very night. Although finding derivatives was just the beginning of calculus but the workload Ms. M gave was sure heavy enough to crash my cheerfulness I possessed earlier and rob me of my energy. My name is Franco. I am a mundane Asian with mundane height. I am a junior in Parkville high school and I have dark hair and dark skin, as normal as a normal person can be. My most hated question was: Are u a Chinese? I do not know how to answer it. My ancestors are from China but I was born and raised in Malaysia. So, here's a question for you, am I a Malaysian or Chinese? Asian suitsme best.

The hallway was buzzing with conservations of students. The noise did not help to lift me up but on the other hand, acted like an extremely helpful agent, pushing me into a total darkness, I was about to black-out. I strolled casually towards my French classroom which was in the exact direction of my calc classroom. Math department on the West wing and Language department on the East wing of the school. Both constantly fighting for more classroom and obviously math has the upper hand. Steve came walking towards my direction and I knew he was heading to the bathroom which sat innocently between the warring Math and Language department. Steve is a sophomore, taller than me, spiky haired and his soul-windows are blue…or maybe green, I am not sure oO. He is a slim, almost-nerdy student, just like me, he has no luck with girl friends (the only difference is that girls do fall for him but his extreme demands repelled them like the earth's strong magnetic field repelling X-rays from the sun. Tough luck --)

I continued my endless journey to my French class and after umpteen painful seconds, Ms Rezek, my French teacher, greeted me with a warm smile as usual as I sat myself next to Mike I. There are two Mikes in my French class and refer them as Mike I and Mike II. Mike I sits next to me while Mike II sits on the other side of the classroom, next to Steve. Mike I is a gigantic guy, another sophomore with greater height than mine. He shaves his moustache regularly and when they regrow, they cloud his lower face like thousands mini needles and make him look messy. Mike I had his notebook wide open on his desk (he always arrives 1st in the classroom and the quickest to get ready for class) as I, too, struggled to pull my cursed French binder from my book bag.

This is a small French class. Ten students in total. Jill is a senior and left the school earlier, leaving nine of us in our miniature class. Mike I and I stared into the black space before us and waited silently…. Students started to fill the room. Aji, Mike II, Steve(came back from bathroom and weird enough, after like thirty minutes of class, he requested for another visit to the bathroom), Berry, Teddy, DJ, and lastly Jaydee, my best friend of the class. Jaydee was a tiny freshman, very jumpy and friendly. He sits behind Mike I and the difference in their sizes form a sharp contrast which gives troubles to my eyes to adjust from time to time. Another bell rang my dead brain cells, signifying the beginning of the romantic language, French.

Ms Rezek greeted the class in French as usual and turned on the overhead for our drills. Packet 4-1, page 33, act 4 was our drill. I got to the work and was hopeful that French could numb me from my emptiness within. Mike I and I finished first, then we continued to stared into the space until a shrill shout, almost a scream drummed my ear like sharp rapier and brought me to life again, how ironic.

"STEVEN! Are you working on the drill!"

"Erm…ya." Steve behaves weirdly in French. He once told me something about this class gave him a imaginary caffeine rush all the time, making him hyper and steer him away from his work.

"Let me see. WHAT IS THIS? You haven't even started and Tu parle, tu parle, TU PARLE!" Tu parle x3 is always Ms. Rezek's famous word of the day. We sometimes would imitate her with tu parle x3 and joke playfully with it. "Now get to work!"

Jaydee sniggered behind me and I, too, smiled with a little joy at Steve's misfortune. Mike II was Steve's talking other-half and he, too, chuckled as Ms Rezek did not gave him an ear-full while Steve faced the music. Mike II was kind off like a stud. He plays guitar and baseball. He joined our little French family in the middle of the school year and is always fenced by giggling girls. He is very healthy looking and Jaydee says he's too popular to even hang out with us. I casually accepted the cruel fact.

Steve got to work and we went over the drill. Ten minutes of boredom. Ms. Rezek always chant out new vocab and bid us to follow suit, hoping repetitions would do us good and I must concede, it works wonder.

"Des Champs de canne a sucre!"

"Des…champs…de…canne…a…sucre" I repeated like a puppet pulled by a string, lifeless and slow.

"Un chute d'eau!"

"Un…chute…d'eau…"

Ms. Rezek paused and with some fury, placed her face inches from Steve's and stared into his eyes ferociously. Steve failed to repeat after her, instead, examined his pen like a treasure he had never seen.

"La foret tropicale!" Ms Rezek chanted in front of Steve and tried to detect movement on Steve's lips. They moved with an unwilling indignation, signifying Ms. Rezek's victory of the war. The whole class exploded with laughter and the exhaustion I experienced earlier dwindled.

After minutes of vocab repetition, we were given works to do and everyone worked quietly, including Steve, Ms. Rezek's wrath proved to be a force not to be reckoned with even Steve could not go against it(amazing ain't it?). Mike I and I always race to the finishing line and the odd of winning is very even. Mike I beat me this time XD. Then, Jaydee and I would exchange answers as necessary (as usual) and once we were done, we gathered around for jokes and always laugh till we drop.

Here's a good one,

An Arabian tried to migrate to the US and he went to the embassy for questioning and identification. The envoy asked him, "What is your name?" The Arabian answered, "Mohammad Ali bin Abu." The envoy asked again, "What is your date of birth and the Arabian answered accordingly. Lastly, the envoy asked for his sex (gender) and the Arabian said, "Six times a week and sometimes with camels."

This is my French class. After each class, my gloom would vanish and I will be recharged. This class works wonder and it prepares me for design in clay with much confidence and replenishes my cheerfulness. I love my French class.


End file.
